I find myself transfixed and contentedly so, to sit and stare in utter awe at the bushes outside the window beside me. Though they barely move in the breeze, their form is ever changing in perception, undulating with radiant propensity for existential significance, not the least of which is manifested in a breathing glow that swims and flies and dances among so many needles of evergreen wonder.
Their subtlest movements are a veritable burst of dancing expression. This is not an evergreen bush, but a being of character and nuance, as infinitely observable as it is undefinable. Stripped of a label this marvelous exhibit of life is both eternally unique and unimaginably united with every possible context in which it exists.
In moments of stronger gusts, the branches absolutely explode with song, screaming the simple but incomparably profound fact of their presence. Their song is a harmony, a conforming transposition of their idiosyncrasy with inferential deference to their surroundings.
Their compliance in song hinders nothing of their movement in growth, and detracts no efficacy from their declaration of residence. To the contrary, in prevailing and progressing they are rather defiant.
I should probably get back to work.